


Hooky

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Family, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, New York City, Playing Hooky, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-29
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 22:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4454195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU about Catelyn pulling her daughters out of school one beautiful day to go tromping around New York.  It was written for a prompt for an exchange ages ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hooky

Catelyn Stark strode into the front office of the United Nations School, which lived in a looming, boxy concrete structure that was probably cutting edge architecture when it was built in the fifties. The interior was bright and spacious though, well appointed with everything that her children could possibly need or want for their education, the hallways teemed with the children of U.N. workers and diplomats from just about every country on earth, and you couldn’t beat the view. It was perched right on the East River, and she knew her restless daydreamer Arya was given to watching the boats and barges surge up and down its surface when she was supposed to be paying attention in biology class.

It was a brief shining moment of time when Arya and Sansa were actually attending the same school; before Sansa would take a semester off to put herself back together after an abusive boyfriend stomped on her soul, and before Arya would get kicked out for rebellious behavior and begin the exhausting bounce from prep school to prep school, before graduating from Westover by the skin of her teeth. Her daughters were in school together. They were a mere 40 blocks from home. They were learning French (it was a requirement). For once, there were no bombs falling in the Stark family’s life, and damnit, Catelyn wanted to seize the moment.

She marched into the front office wearing her Most Serious Face, which could be very damned serious indeed when she wanted.

“Good morning, Madame Stark,” the secretary greeted her, and seeing Catelyn’s serious look, she added, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, Miss Dejardins, but I need to pick up my daughters immediately.”

Miss Dejardins nodded. “Of course, of course, let me see…” She rifled through some schedule books on her desk and then called down to two different classrooms and asked that the Stark girls be sent up to the front office with their things. The girls arrived with backpacks slung over their shoulders, looking confused and concerned.

“Mom,” Sansa asked nervously, “is everything OK? What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain on the way,” Catelyn said gravely, and whisked them out the front door and into the breezy sunshine, one hand on each girl’s shoulder.

“OK, really, why’d you come get us?” Arya demanded.

Catelyn’s face softened into a radiant smile as she looked back and forth between them both. “Because it’s a beautiful day, and we’re playing hooky.”

“Who’s minding your gallery?” Sansa asked.

Catelyn shrugged. “I closed it for the day.”

She piled them into a black town car and they whipped down the FDR Drive, along the river, down to Battery Park, the bottom tip of Manhattan. They stopped at an ice cream truck and got creamsicles, and then Cat led them toward the big glass archway with the neon letters, “Staten Island Ferry.”

“Staten Island?” Arya demanded with horror. “We’re not really going to Staten Island, are we? You might as well have left me in school!”

Catelyn pshawed. “Silly girl. Your dad and I used to take this ride when we were dating. You don’t actually _get off_ over there. You just go for the ride.  It brings you really close to the Statue of Liberty.”

Dubiously, they followed her onto the ferry, and found themselves a bench near the port side railing to sit, look at the dazzle of the sun on the water, and nurse their creamsicles for as long as they could. The ferry’s motor vibrated the floor under their feet as it dragged itself out onto the open water. The weather was perfect for a boat ride, warm and breezy, and a flock of seagulls wheeled around in circles off the bow of the ferry.

A little girl nearby them was blowing bubbles. Sansa leaned down close to her and smiled sweetly. “I like bubbles too,” she said in a conspiratorial whisper.

“They’re my favorite,” said the little girl.

“Are yours the scented kind? They smell like bubblegum.”

Catelyn watched them chatting easily, enjoying the thought of grandchildren one day. Sansa would make an excellent mother.

She looked over at Arya, who was leaning on the railing, eyes closed, hair blowing around in the wind, looking contented, with the sun on her face. Catleyn’s heart swelled for her prickly, complicated Arya, whose heart was so soft but whose ways were so spiky. It was a relief to see her face relax.

Soon, they were passing so close to the Statue of Liberty that Arya could probably have hit it with a spitball. Sansa asked the little girl she’d befriended to blow an extra special bunch of bubbles for her. Cat, Arya and Sansa all put on their sunglasses and Cat took pictures of themselves with the bubbles swirling around them and Lady Liberty in the background.

Catelyn put an arm around Arya. “And when we get back, you get to pick what’s next.”

Arya chose the Native American history museum. She was going through a period of fascination with tribal history and particularly loved the weapons and masks, while Catelyn and Sansa were more interested in the pottery and textiles (“Oh, I see, it’s a bowl or a cup, and that other piece covers it over to keep it hot… Don’t you wish we could get a set of those?” and, “Wait, no, look at the straps. It’s a shoulder bag.”). Sansa and her sister ended up chasing each other around the display with the Pacific Eskimo women’s woven capes until a guard came over and very sternly told them that they had to stop or they’d be asked to leave.

They decided maybe it was time to go anyhow.   At the gift shop before they left, Catelyn bought Arya a beaded bracelet, and Sansa a woven shoulder bag modeled after the ones in the display cases.

“Does Dad know what you’re up to?” Arya asked as they strolled out the front door together. She fiddled with the bracelet on her wrist.

Cat smiled. “Of course. He clutched his pearls for about a minute and then decided I was right.”

Sansa got to pick lunch, and she wanted to go to Lutèce. The Starks lived modestly compared to their relative wealth, and opted for few true extravagances. But their table at Lutèce was one of them. The place would actually close down about six months after this warm afternoon of theirs, but right now, Catelyn Stark had a standing reservation at what was arguably the best restaurant in the world. She brought artists and buyers there, brought Ned’s business dinners there, and why not? It wasn’t just the prestige of it; it was some of the best food she would ever eat, and she would still sigh nostalgically a decade later about the Alsatian onion tarts, and the sauteed foie gras with dark chocolate sauce and bitter orange marmalade.

Of course Sansa wanted to go to Lutèce. Who wouldn’t?

Arya, that was who.

Catelyn always looked elegant, even when she wasn’t trying, even when she was in sweatpants. Sansa always went to school dressed like a particularly stylish kindergarten teacher, wearing khaki pants, ballet flats and cashmere sweaters. Arya, on the other hand, was barely presentable most of the time, and today was no exception, as she stomped around in Doc Martens, ripped jeans and a Modest Mouse tour shirt. “Um, I’m not really dressed for Lutèce,” she complained. “You guys are fine, but they’re going to give us side-eye if we go in there with me dressed the way I am.”

Sansa put up her dukes and with a determined furrow to her brow, assured Arya, “If they have a word to say about my baby sister, I’ll punch ‘em in the nose.”

“You might break a nail, though,” Arya jabbed, and they jostled each other back and forth on the sidewalk until Catelyn felt compelled to put a stop to it before they jostled each other into the street and oncoming traffic.

“Well, we have no choice, then,” Catelyn sighed with exaggerated resignation. “We’re just going to have to stop in Soho on the way up, and pick up something for you to wear.” She knew perfectly well that she could out-side-eye any French waiter, any day of the week, but it was an excuse to go shopping.

Arya actually liked getting and having new clothes once in a while, but the actual process of shopping was a bore. Fortunately, Cat knew where to go, though, and what to get, and they were in and out of the boutique in under twenty minutes. Arya got leather pants and a tan silk button-down shirt, and she was surprisingly pleased with both. The ride up to Lutece was pleasant; the kept the windows down and asked the driver to turn up the radio so they could sing along to “Milkshake,” (a song that was a guilty pleasure for all three of them, each for different reasons).

They took their table, and Arya test drove some of her French on the waiters. Her accent wasn’t terrible, actually. And as they sat at lunch, nibbling away on their caviar and blinis, smoked salmon with crème fraiche, and duck confit, Arya impulsively grabbed her mother and sister’s hands, looked at both of them very seriously, and inquired, “So, we’re going to do this again next week, right?”

Catelyn smiled. “Probably not next week. But soon again, I promise.”


End file.
